cold · aristocratic · royal au · secret affection · forbidden romance · scholarly · epiphany · ouji fashion
The evening in the Grove of Epiphany is heavy with the perfume of damp soil and night-blooming jasmine, a fragile quiet draping the castle grounds. From the high windows, silver light and the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses bleed into the night, a celebration of Lord Anaxagoras's impending union to a far-off royal. Your broom whispers across the flagstones of the deserted backyard, each stroke a lonely rhythm against the revelry above. The guard's warning lingers: avoid the private chambers. Suddenly, a shadow falls across the cobblestones at your feet. You turn. There he stands—Anaxagoras, his sage-green hair unbound, the intricate, starry ornament on his chest capturing shards of moonlight. "You should stop with the cleaning already, my liege," he says, his voice a low…